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It was ugly. Not just the way the Bengals played, but the weather. That's what I remember about Super Bowl XVI. As their reward for reaching pro football's pinnacle, the Bengals and 49ers weren't shipped to San Diego, Pasadena or Miami. They were dropped in a suburb of Detroit for some cold weather and car jackings — the first Super Bowl in a northern city.
I was able to secure a ticket because of my friendship with a Ben-Gals cheerleader. A friend and I drove up the night before the game, spent the night in Toledo, and were among the first arrivals at the Silverdome. Getting in was no problem. Getting out was a nightmare. We had parked in downtown Pontiac and hitched a ride to the stadium, not thinking about what might lie ahead. Stupid us. After the game, we were greeted by the ABCs — Abominable Snowman, blizzard and chaos — with an ice storm mixed it. Our saving grace was a cab driver who cut us a deal. "You guys push me out of this snow bank," he said. "I'll take you to your car." Deal. Somehow, I made it to the Dayton Daily News the next morning, working a desk shift on no sleep. I thought about Forrest Gregg that day. When he took over as Bengals coach in 1980, he told players what he expected. "Eight hours work for eight hours pay." My dad recorded the game on a Betamax videocassette tape. I never watched the replay and never will. I hate horror flicks. Dayton Daily News
http://www.daytondailynews.com/s/content/oh/story/sports/pro/bengals/2007/01/23/ddn012407benglance6.html
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